


Slippage

by applejuice_motherfucker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Control Kink, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejuice_motherfucker/pseuds/applejuice_motherfucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you to count to a hundred."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slippage

**Author's Note:**

> A request fill for tomatograffiti on Tumblr, who is absolutely lovely <3

 

“Shh...” you whisper, stroking a knuckle down the inside of his thigh. He's tight beneath you, his bonds keeping him trapped and stiff, legs opened wide as you can get them, bent at the knees and tied by rope connected to the wall behind him. His arms are crossed behind his back, but they're useless anyway. His eyes are wet, skin glowing faintly with sweat, room dark but for the street light creeping in between the blinds. His hair sticks to his forehead and he holds his breath, waiting for his next command.

 

“I want you to count to a hundred.” Your voice is thick, your accent heavy, and you roll it across the skin of his stomach. He tries not to twitch as you breathe down on him but fails, though he's still utterly silent apart from that. You shift down and move your neck until the tip of his cock rests loosely between your lips. He's trying to catch his breath, and you forgive him this one time, his small, flat chest pulsing abnormally fast as he fights against instinct, refusing his hips' desire to just press up into your mouth.

 

You stare up at his eyes, watching them lose focus and roll back lazily then snap ahead as he regains control of himself. He meets your gaze, and the look he gives you would break your heart if it didn't make it swell with pride. God, he just trusts you so _much_. He'd trust you with his own death, you'd bet. If you held a sword to his throat right now he'd believe in nothing but what you would choose to do. Such a clever boy, what a good little soldier, perfect little knight.

 

You brush the tip of your tongue against his frenulum as a nudge to remind him of what you've ordered, and you see a gasp catch in his chest, though he remains soundless. He closes his eyes, takes a deep gulp of air, exhales slowly, then looks at you again.

 

“One,” he says, voice husky through the first half of the word, then breaking open as he finishes.

 

“Two.” More confident, still watching your eyes as you keep still, not giving anything away.

 

“Three.” You suck him in, your tongue laving him harshly, and he grits his teeth, eyes squeezing closed, but doesn't utter a sound. You suck him again, watching his face contort into something close to anguish. Then you stop, allowing him to calm down again, breathing deeply. It takes a moment before he decides he can speak again.

 

“Fo-uh,” he cuts himself off, your cheeks hollowing as you swallow him into your throat. His eyes are clenched shut, he can't even watch you now. You tighten your hold on him, fingers curling harder into the backs of his thighs, pushing his legs apart even further, and you know this is uncomfortable for him, and you don't care. You know he doesn't care.

 

You devour him, your tongue convulsing around him and he's so _hot_ inside your mouth, his head thrown back, lip between his teeth to help him stay quiet, although he's failing. You can hear his tiny whining chokes, the muscles beneath your hands twitching, his stomach collapsing in with every harsh drag of breath he takes. Your tongue drags from his base to the tip, your lips wrapping around him and sucking gently one last time before you let him fall, making a small sound as his cock drops against his hip bone, shining wet with saliva.

 

“Go on,” you command, moving up and over him, your hands pushing down the pillow either side of his head. He gets the hint and opens his eyes, hazy and discomfited, but even still he trusts you.

 

Good boy.

 

“One,” he begins again as you've instructed him before. He needs to learn to control himself. You stare blankly straight down into his face, watching every tick and shift, every time he thinks about something, every switch of his eyes, every breath. Its all yours, so you watch him.

 

“Two,” he says, his voice calm, like he's convinced himself that he can do this. You absently wonder how far he'll make it tonight, then reassure yourself that it doesn't actually matter. He trusts you, so he doesn't need to worry. He'll get as far as you'll let him.

 

“Three,” you bring a hand down, not touching the rest of his body, your weight shifting above him to hold yourself up on your right arm. Your left circles a finger around his hole, spreading some saliva that had slipped down around into his skin. His eyes harden, and you almost want to congratulate him. Instead you press the finger in, just as he takes his breath for the fourth count. It's not quite slick enough, you can feel the friction against your finger. His tongue darts out to wet his lip.

 

“Four,” he says, with more confidence than you know he feels. He's trying to believe in himself, when you both know that's just silly. You cock an eyebrow, pressing the finger deeper, perhaps a little too hard, but you need to teach him a lesson.

 

“Five,” he says, almost cocky about it. Your finger crooks, stretching him inside.

 

“Six.” Oh, he's just showing off now. He's looking you right in the eye. If he weren't flushed and his mouth wasn't so desperately wet, you bet he'd even risk smirking at you. Bad boy. Just as he's about to speak again you push a second finger in.

 

He doesn't make it past seven.

 

What a good boy.


End file.
